Santa, baby!

I finished my Christmas shopping today. Well, except for Maddie's dance instructor and the "class gift" we'll be organizing for the kids' teachers.

Can I help anybody out?

Thin Ice

If I look back on my life, I think it's fair to say that every "good" idea I've ever had turned "bad" at roughly the same moment. What was that moment, you say?

Right around the time the first penis walked into the room.

Today it was "Disney on Ice," and a dozen six year-old bladders on an impossibly long ladies' room line. I had a "good" idea, which I'd borrowed from countless trips to Broadway plays and the Metropolitan Opera: I took over the nearest men's room and converted it into a temporary ladies' room. The little girls marched in, and I stood guard at the door, waving off the few Dads who were seeking some relief.

Then, the aforementioned penis arrived.

"There are little girls inside," I said as he attempted to enter. "They couldn't wait."

"It's okay," he replied, brushing past me, "I take my little girl in here all the time."

He rushed to a urinal and - as God is my witness - whipped it out and went. Thank goodness all of the little girls were still safely in their stalls (taking their sweet little girl time), and he was out of there in a flash. But I was horrified at his behavior, and at my complete and total inability to protect those to whom I'd offered a safe place to pee.

After it was over, I apologized to my friend (she was with the kids while I "guarded" the door, and had a front-row seat for the show) for my impotence. She was sweet and forgiving, but I was left to face some hard truths. One, that I lack the gravitas of a 60 year-old grandmother standing outside an opera house bathroom and daring any man to enter. And, two, that men are pigs.

The One on the Far Left is Mine

Because I'm not afraid of heights and, let's face it, sometimes a girl who's barely five feet tall just plain needs the tallest fella in the photo.

Honey Bunny

Best. Night's. Sleep. Ever.

Mother of the Year

Just when I was beginning to feel that I'd come into my own as a mother ...

This past Saturday I loaded my two kids into the family SUV and headed to the YMCA for our weekly swimming lessons. As we disembarked the vehicle, I noticed that young Thomas (age 4) was wearing one blue shoe, and one brown one. I would have loved to have been able to blame him for this little fashion faux pas, but the truth is that I was the one who dressed him, head to foot.

Oh yeah, did I mention that they were both the LEFT shoe?

What's Up Doc?

There was a moment, just before 7pm, when I thought it had all been a dream, and that I hadn’t actually agreed to host an adult toy party in our suburban home. But then the doorbell rang, and two lovely young women entered. They had rolling suitcases which, I soon learned, were full of demo vibrators.

I had about a half bottle of blueberry port in me, which is a good thing if you’re about to be the guinea pig at a sex party. Once the crowd had been loosened up with a little massage oil and pheromone lotion, it was my turn to try a little “Enhancement Cream.” I was dispatched to the ladies room and told to apply a small amount of the stuff to my “center.” My sister (the veteran of many such parties) had warned me about this:

“Some of my friends said it’s like squatting in a patch of eucalyptus; I sort of felt like my crotch was on fire.”

Thankfully, my experience was more “eucalyptus patch” than “firecrotch.” But it was still embarrassing. And that was before the vibrators started circulating around the room.

I’ve always thought that a really high-end vibrator should resemble a piece of modern art, full of womanly curves and gentle slopes. But it seems that the folks at Disney are moonlighting in the adult toy biz; all of the stuff we were shown was adorned with woodland varmints and sea creatures.

I know you all don’t care about this. Get to it, you hussy! Tell us what you BOUGHT!!

Okay. I bought one of those woodland varmint-vibrators. I haven’t used it yet (yeah, you get the stuff right away, lest you come to your senses post-party and cancel your order), because I’ve been busy with the other stuff I bought. There’s the Massage Mitt with the built-in vibrator, then there’s O-Ring with the built in vibrator … detecting a trend? I even bought the firecrotch stuff, just because I thought it might make for an interesting conversation.

$250 later, I must say that my husband and I are happily entering the Electronic Age of our sex life (both the Massage Mitt and the O-Ring were for us to enjoy together). And no, I will not give you all of the sweaty details. This is true love, after all. But I will tell you that, when my friend Jen has a party later this year, I’ll be picking up a few more goodies.

And I promise that – when Bugs Bunny and I do finally connect – I’ll let you know if it was worth the $50 bucks.

Finding Nemo

All I remember is this impossibly tall mother of five staring at me while she cranked up the speed and intensity of the demo vibrator in her hands. (The thing had flashing lights and a clitoral stimulator in the shape of a small woodland creature, I swear.) She was saying something like: "Can you feel your clitoris now?"

And all my blueberry port-addled brain could think was: "This is not what I expected, but I like it!"

More later ... I promise!

Comfortably "6"

And not too damn happy about it. Freakin' Halloween candy!!! Plus, I sugared myself into the first migraine I've had since June.

I'm headed to the kitchen to bag it all up and get it the hell out of here; the engineers at Mike's place will eat anything.

By the way, we are T-minus two days from my first-ever "Passion Party." The link to the good stuff is: igniteyourpassionnow.com

You have been warned!